Our Death Achieves the Ideal
by LESbiansMISunderstood
Summary: "'So, we'll attach these to the side of the ships and then we will row away. The bombs should go off at around 0900 hours, questions' He looked around to the two new recruit's scared faces. They remained silent. 'Good. This is your last chance. There is no turning back after this.'" During WWII Norway is under German occupation, and Enjolras wants his country back. war man, battle
1. Prologue

**_March, 1940, Stalla Front, Finland _**

_Enjolras could taste the blood. It was all around him; blood, guts and glory, mixed with the scent of gunpowder and snow. _

_Somebody was pulling on his arm, yelling to him in Finnish, then in Swedish when he realized Enjolras was a Norwegian volunteer. _

_"Fall back." _

_No, he thought, looking towards the lone tree, covered in snow and riddled with bullets, and the man cowering behind it; Courfeyrac. He was just about to shout to the other soldiers, wanting to beg them to help his friend, but then the bomb exploded. _

**1941, Ullevål Hospital, Oslo, Norway**

It's not uncommon for Enjolras to wake up from memories of Finland, but recently it was all he dreamed of.

He often thought of everything he'd done in the past six months, the decisions he'd made and the choices he'd come to regret. But if there was one thing he did not regret at all, it was jumping through window.

**1940, Karl-Johan Street, Oslo, Norway**

Russia never made it further than 150km into Finland. And Norway gave in completely to the German occupation in less than two months. Sometimes Enjolras was embarrassed to be Norwegian.

He and Courfeyrac had returned home from the Stalla Front that April, April 9th to be exact, the day the Germans attacked Norway. In no time at all, Norway were without a king, and the Norwegians without their country.

Once the fighting was over they'd joined a gang of Patriots. They were young and they were idealists. And they wanted to fight. He, Combeferre, Marius and Courfeyrac became a tight knit group. Gavroche, despite being a scrawny boy of barely twenty, was their unofficial leader, taking more precautions and looking on in disdain and frustration as the rest openly spit in the face of the Nazis, he was far too wise for his age.

They made propaganda flyers, wallpapering the sides of the buildings with their newsletters, "We Want Our Country" being printed faster than they were in demand, much to Gavroche's disdain.

They became best friends. They laughed and joked, complained about the ban on jazz music, Vidkun Quisling, Adolf Hitler, and pranked the shit out of Marius. It was all fun and games until Combeferre came through with his threat to leave, telling them all that his courier was there one night, with his bags all packed.

"So you're leaving then?" Enjolras asked, as Marius and Courfeyrac were having a wrestling match on the sofa (because Courfeyrac had shot the pipe from his mouth with an airgun.)

"Yes, Forest Lodge, it's about time we got some sort of organised."

"You can't do anything from Scotland, Combeferre."

"I can do more upon my return than I would have if I stayed here. Are you sure you don't want to come, Enjolras?" There was a shout from Marius on the sofa as Courfeyrac got the upper hand, laughing that he bit like a girl.

Enjolras gave Combeferre a half smile, "to be honest, I'm a little tempted right now." He laughed, but both he and Combeferre knew he had no intentions of leaving his country, not yet.

"I'll see you then, brother." Combeferre left and Enjolras decided to help Marius by shooting Courfeyrac in the arse with the airgun.

In the end, Gavroche – now nicknamed "the Chin" – slowly managed to make them more organised, they took orders from London and started going by aliases. But it was still too late, and they were caught. Well, two of them were.

Courfeyrac was arrested after a meeting, for conspiracy against the German State in the form of propaganda, and would be sent to Grini Prison Camp.

Enjolras on the other hand, was charged with conspiracy against the German State in the form of explosives hidden under his bed, and would be facing the newly incorporated capital punishment. That was when he jumped out the window on the second floor.

...

_EeEeEeEeEeEeEeEeE_

...

This is my birthday present for the amazing little bundle of joy; Ceara (ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo)

She is fabtastic and you should totally check out her writing!

This fic is based on a movie about the resistance fighter Max Manus, which is in turn a sort of biography, so this is kindof a true story...

I do have to warn you that though this is an Enjonine story, there will be a lot of Enjolras/Amis focus. They are his brothers, his trusted friends, his family and totally kick ass.

This is also my first multi-chap Fic, I have the whole story written out at around 14K, but I need to edit the hell out of those. Chapter 1 will be up soon though!


	2. CH1: The Aid and the Escape

CHAPTER 1: The Aid and the Escape

_..._

_EeEeEeEeEeEeEeE_

_..._

**_March, 1940, Stalla Front, Finland_**

_The white of the man's camouflage overalls were slowly turning red, parts of it was blown off by the hand grenade, covering his fellow comrades in snow, ice and dirt. Enjolras felt his blood boil. The bullets were still flying, and he could faintly hear Courfeyrac's shouts for him over the ringing that the explosion had left in his ears._

_The bullet rain stilled, and he charged, jumping out of the trench and rolling to a nearby tree, snatching some ammo from the dead soldier next to him. His name was Pål, and he had been a sailor before he was sent to the front. His senses flooding with the memories of the few nights of jokes and stories, with Pål leading the laughter, he could vaguely comprehend what Courfeyrac was shouting;_

"_Enjolras! Fall back! Go, leave me, go!" But he blindly charged on, fighting hard to cock his gun as it had jammed in the freezing cold, but with pure, stubborn force of will and adrenaline he finally managed. He exhaled, steeling himself before he ran, without cover, over the no man's land towards the enemy trenches, shooting all the way._

**January 1941, Ullevål Hospital, Oslo, Norway**

«Excuse me sir, you are at Ullevål Hospital, you have a bad concussion, a broken leg and some internal bleeding, please remain calm." He could hazily make out a face. It was a pretty face, soft features underneath a blond fringe, the girl was wearing a nurse's hat. It took a few seconds to register what she'd said. He was in a hospital, because he'd jumped out of the window, which he did because-

"How- how m-many?" he choked out, grabbing her wrist as she made her way towards the door.

"Excuse me," she looked confused, "I don't-"

"Guards. How many?" he managed to say, his throat was hurting like hell, but he needed to get some answers.

She cast a look over her shoulder before she bent down, pretending to fix his sheets in case someone were to look in.

"Five, two by the door and three down the hall, and a few more outside the exits. They are all armed" She was very calm, and it made everything easier for him, he found he trusted her already.

"What is your name?"

"Cosette."

"Cosette, it's a nice name, where are you from Cosette?"

She blushed slightly, "Bergen." He should have guessed, her accent gave it away from the first sentence.

"I've never been there." He smiled, needing for her to like him. She smiled back.

"Are there a lot of Patriots there?" he asked.

"Oh yes."

"Do you think you could get them a message?"

They heard footsteps coming down the hall towards them. Cosette grabbed his hand and frantically whispered that his doctor had some contacts and they would do whatever it took to help him out of there.

That night she returned with his supper, she was acting weak and timid as she passed the guards with his tray and humbly bowed out, the moment they closed the door behind her, he lifted the napkin to reveal a note and some clippers.

"Extraction at 0400, out the window. Courf at Grini"

He quickly ate the note and hid the clippers in his sheets.

At midnight he overheard the policeman, Javert, harassing the doctor. He had heard of Javert. All the months of propaganda were spent looking over his shoulder for Javert and his men.

"Doctor Valjean, I request to take this prisoner immediately. We need to question him before his execution."

"The patient cannot be moved, his internal bleeding won't allow it. To move him will be to kill him, _before_ his cross-examination. He will need to stay here for at least two weeks, four at the most, before you take him to Victoria Terrasse."

Javert huffed, muttered "we'll see about that," and marched off down the hall.

Enjolras glanced through the gap in the door, catching the doctor's eye. Valjean said nothing, simply handed a chart to Cosette, and continued his rounds.

Ten to four in the morning, you could hear moans and groans coming from his floor, clipping the thin cast on his leg and the bindings confining him to his bed was harder than he imagined, and even though he had given himself 20 minutes, he was barely halfway done when the first ten had ticked by. The sound of boots marching towards him, the recognisable ones that he knew belonged to Javert was the only thing that deterred him from his escape.

He stilled his actions, hurriedly putting down his clippers and feigning sleep.

Javert entered the room not a second later and closed the door behind him. Enjolras wondered how long he would be standing there, cursing the man as he did not seem to move, as he was messing with the schedule, while at the same time being grateful that Javert did not bother walking around his bed, where his escape attempt was on full display.

After a few more antagonizing seconds, Javert lit a cigarette. Seizing his chance, Enjolras faked a coughing fit, half way rolling over and covering the clippers with his sheets.

Cosette was suddenly at his side, fluffing his pillows and propping him up as she patted him on the back.

"Would you mind taking that outside?" she did not say please.

Javert huffed, but after one last stubborn drag of his cigarette, he finally left. Enjolras stopped coughing at once, telling Cosette to leave as he resumed his feeble escape attempt.

"No. He'll just come back." She started unfastening the binds on his other side and unhooking his broken leg from the holster. "You'll never make it on your own."

She practically pushed him towards the window, and when he had managed to get it open and was removing the boards, she suddenly grabbed his shoulder.

"Hit me."

"What?"

"Hit me."

"No! I'm not hitting you, Cosette!"

"Hit me, or they'll think I was in on it."

Enjolras weighed his options for half a second before he cupped her face, bringing his lips to her eyelid, before he backed away and replaced the touch of his gentle kiss with a punch that would make Courfeyrac proud.

He spared a second of thought for the brave nurse Cosette, the poor soul he'd probably doomed to months in captivity for aiding his escape.

He later found out _both_ Cosette and doctor Valjean were taken prisoners. They were sent to Grini.

**1941, Forest Lodge Army Training Camp, Scotland**

"Captain Lamarque?" Enjolras asked, knocking on the door. He was completely healed now, after the excruciatingly long journey from Norway to Sweden, then the Soviet union, turkey, Canada and then London.

Almost immediately, Lamarque threw a typewriter at him. Enjolras watched as it bounced on the carpet towards his feet.

"Who the hell are you?" Lamarque asked irritably as he went to pick up the typewriter.

"Second Lieutenant Enjolras."

The Captain's demeanour changed at once. "Enjolras?"

"Yes"

"It was you that, oh yes, you're the window jumper! Fantastic spirit!" he said, cracking a huge smile before throwing the typewriter out of his office, shouting in English for them to bring him one that worked.

"Let's take a look at your file," he said, flipping through the documents Enjolras had taken with him.

"Volunteer in Finland, fought in the battle of Kongsvinger, reported for service in London, and now you want to serve in Norwegian Independence Company?"

"Yes, if that means I will finally get to fight in my own country… if there is something that _can_ be done."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the last time I was home, I accomplished nothing."

Lamarque started laughing "There's not a single fucker who's accomplished anything!"

Enjolras frowned. "But you've led some successful raids?"

Lamarque was suddenly sombre again. "After our last raid, the Germans shot 18 men, torched the town and sent 60 of its citizens to concentration camps."

He sighed, motioning for Enjolras to sit opposite him.

"We haven't won a single town since we pulled out of Narvik 18 months ago, and the allies are pushed back wherever they try to strike. It's only a matter of time before we all have to learn to speak German. But, us here, we decided to fight regardless. So to join us you must either be crazy or stupid. So, crazy, stupid… which is it?"

Enjolras stood and saluted Captain Lamarque.

"You are stupid." Lamarque declared before turning back to his paperwork. "I'm looking forwards to working with you Enjolras. Report to Corporal Combeferre; he'll show you around."

Enjolras could hardly believe his luck as he walked over to one of the side buildings. Through the window he could spy Combeferre teaching a few men about propaganda like he was born to do it. Then again, Combeferre had gone to one of those fancy universities, and admitted to Enjolras that he had always wanted to be a teacher, but that was before this wretched war happened.

Enjolras knocked on the glass and waved to Combeferre, who cracked a huge smile and opened it.

"Write two thousand words about… propaganda, ok?" he told his students, who groaned collectively, before he started to climb out.

"I heard about your escape from Ullevål, you've become somewhat a hero here." Combeferre said as he tried to squeeze through the small window head first. "All just for climbing out the window– no, don't help me" she protested as Enjolras offered a hand, "how hard can it be? Straight out the window and suddenly, ow, fine, help me out here." Combeferre said, taking his hand anyhow and pulling himself face first into the gravel outside, much to his student's amusement.

Combeferre showed him around. They base was a huge mansion, with amazing nature and old bridges and lakes all over.

"Have you heard anything from Courfeyrac?" Enjolras asked when they walked on one of the long hiking trails in the area, just as they crossed the bridge.

"Yeah, he's still at Grini Prison Camp. He's head of his unit there, he managed to copy some keys and helped some prisoners escape recently."

"Helped? He didn't escape himself?"

Combeferre snorted. "He unlocked all the doors and when the last person was out he locked himself in again."

"What?"

"He felt like the resistance work he did in the prison was too important to run away from."

"That man is quite the character…"

"That he is."

And so his life in Scotland began. He and Combeferre started training, plotting and training some more. They fell back into their old banter and discussions about propaganda.

"It a lot more than just 'making newspapers' it's about spreading awareness, making the people prepared to fight alongside us." Combeferre protested as he showed Enjolras how to attach magnetic underwater mines, limpets, to the side of the ship they were practising on. "It's about national unity-"

"We can create national unity by blowing all German Property off Norwegian soil."

"Fair enough" Combeferre said as he concentrated on fixing the limpet onto ship. "There, oh shit," he said as it fell off his stick and Combeferre frantically pulled it back up by the string. "Eh, it will stick when it has to."

Enjolras snorted, "and you're supposed to be a teacher."

"Of _propaganda_."

The few weeks were spent hiking, hunting, exercising and training for the mission they had plotted together since Enjolras' arrival, so it came as a slap to the face when Combeferre showed him the rejection stamp on his mission application.

"The mission is still go, but I'm not on it." Combeferre sighed. "I'm remaining here to teach." Enjolras regarded his friend. No matter how much Combeferre loved his teaching job here, he knew he would rather fight for his country, and the rejected look on his face was enough for Enjolras' fury to build.

"Is it too much to ask?!" he muttered to himself as he stalked off to find Captain Smith.

"What the hell is this?" Enjolras demanded as he stormed into the Captain's office, and slammed the rejected application on his desk.

"Enjolras?"

"Why isn't Combeferre cleared for this mission?"

"He has no field experience and he is too valuable as a teacher here, we need him-"

"For propaganda?!"

"Yes, Enjolras, for propaganda."

They stared at each other challengingly for a few seconds before Enjolras caved.

"Please, we have been working so hard on this, together. It was always _our_ mission. I you would just talk to Lamarque then-"

"That won't happen. Lamarque is dead."

"Dead?" Enjolras asked, his chest feeling constricted by that familiar numbing ache.

Captain Smith eyed him for a long moment, before sighing and rubbing his temples, suddenly looking 10 years older.

"Fine. Combeferre can go, I will clear him for the mission." He said, waving his hand and returning to his seat.

"You will not regret this." Enjolras swore before he made his exit.

...

_EeEeEeEeEeEeEeE_

...

So that was Chapter 1! And don't you fret! Chapter 2 will include Enjonine interaction! We just have to get Enjolras to the right country first! :D


	3. CH2: The Return and the Meeting

_AN: shadows-of-1832 asked me what happened to Lamarque, how he died. Lamarque is essentially Captain Linge. "Linge was killed during Operation Archery, a British Combined Operations raid at Måløy against German military positions on Vågsøy Island. During the Occupation of Norway by Nazi Germany, Måløy was used as a German coastal fortress, which had led to the eradication of all settlement on the island to make room for the fortress" (from Wikipedia)_

_Anyway, here is chapter 2!_

CHAPTER 2: the Return and the Meeting 

**_March, 1940, Stalla Front, Finland_**

_He could hear the Russians yelling at each other, and the unmistakable sound of a jammed machinegun, he ran to the next trench, shooting its inhabitants. There was only one left, he was begging for his life. Enjolras could no longer hear Courfeyrac's shouts._

**March, 1943, Hedmark, Norway**

"Close encounter with Patria's nature, I see." Laughed Combeferre at the half strangled shouts Enjolras made. He hung upside down and half way out of his harness from the parachute tangled in the branches above him. Combeferre cut him down.

"The containers?"

"The forth one is right there."

"Good."

A few feet away lay a beat up and open container, still attached to its parachute, the ground around it littered with parcels which he knew contained either plastic explosives or English cigarettes.

**April, 1943, Oslo, Norway**

"Aker Harbour has 50 guards at night and 200 during the day."

"Why don't we have Norwegian flags on out uniforms?" wondered one of the new boys, Joly, out loud. Interrupting Enjolras' briefing for the third time.

"We will only wear the flag when our country is free." Combeferre says calmly.

"Exactly," Enjolras continued, the need to yell at Joly kept in check when Combeferre threw him a warning look. "Now, Feuilly is our inside man at Aker Harbour, he will place limpets on two of the ships. They are filled with plastic explosives and will go off around eight hours after they are-"

"But, what if the Nazis kill of the workers after this?" Feuilly interrupted.

"We will be wearing English uniforms if they see us."

"But if you're not seen?"

Combeferre calmly smiled to Feuilly, "We will leave some English effects. Don't worry."

Enjolras thanked the heavens that Combeferre had such a calming effect on the green boys as they settled down again.

He carried on with his explanations.

"So, we will attach these to the side of the ships and then we will row away. The bombs should go off at around 0900 hours, questions?" He looked around to the two new recruit's scared faces. They remained silent.

"Good. This is your last chance. There is no turning back after this."

**27. April, 1943, OPERATION MARDONIUS, Aker Port, Oslo, Norway**

That night they rowed their boats towards the harbour. Well, rowing was the sophisticated term; they were basically paddling in their tiny boats.

Combeferre and Marius were in one boat and Enjolras was with Joly in the other.

Enjolras could feel the jitters of excitement and fear, and the adrenaline pumping through his veins, but he managed to keep steady hands as he carefully placed the limpets on the ship with a tent pole. His senses could pick up everything from the German being spoken not 6 feet away from him, to the shadows of Combeferre and Marius steadying themselves at the other ship.

When he was done with the first ship, he motioned to Joly that they needed to paddle across to the next, but just as they started crossing, the nightshift started and the floodlight lit up their path for all to see. And a patrol boat was coming.

"It's too late to turn back now." Enjolras growled through his teeth as he pushed on, grateful for Joly's steady paddling and lack of hesitation as they made it across in the nick of time, the patrol boat passing seconds after they made their way behind their next target.

He fastened the limpets onto the last ship, this time his hands were shaking, and stuck a letter to the side of it with his knife. That was the only English effect they had.

Then, quicker than the devil, they were off again, paddling out of the harbour and into the darkness.

"How will you get to Sweden?" asked Marius when they were finally at a safe distance.

"Well," said Combeferre, "I thought we could paddle there…" Enjolras chuckled

"We'll walk to the border and take a train the rest of the way to Stockholm."

They parted from Joly and Marius when they left their boats.

Upon their arrival in Stockholm, they received a letter from Marius saying that the mission was only partly successful as not all the limpets had gone off, but the ships still sank.

(They did not receive the news that Feuilly was arrested with four of his co-workers, and awaiting execution.)

**April, 1943, somewhere near the border to Sweden, Hedmark, Norway**

"Ah, do you feel how the nature is slowly becoming more Swedish, Enjolras? We must surely be in there soon."

"You said that almost three hours ago, and we still haven't made it to the border," Enjolras chuckled. "Where are we going to stay when we get there, anyway?"

"Oh, don't worry, 'Ponine will take care of that."

"'Ponine?" Enjolras asked, confused.

"I haven't told you about Éponine yet?" Combeferre gaped incredulously at him.

"Who is she, your Swedish girlfriend?"

"Oh no, she's Norwegian." Combeferre said as if that would explain the reason why he could not possibly be romantically involved with her. "And she's our boss," he added when he realised it was not enough of a reason.

"Alright..."

"What?"

"She's ugly."

"She's not ugly, it's more like we have this brother-sister relationship."

Enjolras looked at Combeferre's blushing cheeks, and knew that was not the truth, at least not from Combeferre's side.

"So she's available then?" Enjolras asked, testing him.

"No," laughed Combeferre. "And I don't know what sort of game you're playing Enjolras. We both know you don't have girlfriends, or even lovers for that matter."

"You only met me after the war started," Enjolras pointed out. "I was 26, who says I've never been a ladies man before that?"

"Courfeyrac." Combeferre answered. Enjolras felt that dull stinging in his chest as he always did when he remembered that his childhood friend was slowly withering away at Grini.

"But I can still take a shot at her?" he asked, refusing to let the mood get sombre.

"No."

"So you _are_ interested."

"No!"

Enjolras laughed but let it be. They walked for a few more meters before it suddenly felt as if it was brighter, he looked up ahead and saw a clearing in the trees, a few meters wide and many kilometres long. He paused and pointed across to where the forest started again.

"That, my friend, is Sweden."

They walked across.

**1943, The British Consulate, Stockholm, Sweden.**

"I'll see if I can find 'Ponine," Combeferre murmured, hiding his blush as he walked to the left. Enjolras bit back a teasing comment and said he'd stock up on their rations meanwhile. He walked towards the desks, and was distracted by a sight, and it was a beautiful sight to behold.

Enjolras had never been the kind of man who ogled the ladies as they walked by, not even when he'd been young and managed to mess himself into all kinds of funny situations involving less-than-decent-women with Courfeyrac, nor when his father took him to Cuba as a child and the woman his father liked to talk to was wearing practically nothing. But he could not help himself from looking at the lovely dame in front of him, bent over a filing cabinet, with her bottom towards him.

"Excuse me," he said, forcing himself not to blush when he realised he was staring just a little bit too long.

"What do you want?" she answered, still bent over the bottom drawer, it annoyed him that she didn't face him, but instead kept her arse in his sight in such a distracting way.

"I need some equipment."

She stood up with the air of someone who was used to putting people down. It caught him a little by surprise seeing as he had only ever seen such a well-executed sigh performed by himself before. And still she hadn't turned around to face him.

"What's your name?" she asked with disinterest.

"Mr. In-a-Hurry."

"Mr. In-a-Hurry," she said, rolling her eyes as she turned to face him, the look of utmost boredom and I-don't-have-the-time-for-this-crap upon her beautiful face. Oh what a beautiful face it was.

He blinked, taking in everything from her big brown eyes, to her dimpled cheek and the freckles on her nose. She raised an eyebrow and he hurriedly fumbled with unfolding his list while focusing on not blushing.

"Ehm, we need 2 diving suits, 20 kilos of coffee, 8 limpets…" he glanced towards her, seeing that she hadn't moved, other than to cross her arms, "write it down," he told her, she snatched his list from him instead.

"Let me see… ha! 60 cartons of cigarettes! 15 bottles of whiskey? What sort of rubbish is this?"

"Can you just fix it, I don't have time to discuss it." He set his chin and looked at her challengingly.

"Oh, you don't, do you, Mr. In-a-Hurry?" she scoffed as she crossed out the cigarettes and whiskey.

"Hey, don't do that!" he said as she walked passed him.

"Look, I have 20 refugees from Trøndelag who all need a place to live, and I only have 300 cartons of cigarettes total to distribute amongst 300 saboteurs, couriers and refugees alike." She said, still crossing out and scribbling on his list. "There," she said, handing it back to him when she was satisfied. "Now get in line like everyone else." He confusedly accepted the list and stared at it before she hit his hat with her pen and told him to take it off inside as was polite. He looked back up at her and watched her walk away without a single glance back. He was shocked to find that his hat was already off and in his pocket.

He spied her walk across the room and tap Combeferre on the shoulder, who turned around and promptly threw his arms around her. Dread and trepidation filled Enjolras' stomach as he made his way over.

"Do you mind if we steal you for a few moments?" He heard Combeferre say.

"We?" She asked.

"Enjolras and I."

"Enjolras? _The_ Enjolras? The window jumper who managed to escape from Ullevål, is he here?" She sounded a lot more excited now than she had a minute ago. Enjolras on the other hand thought it better to slowly turn back around. Unfortunately for him; Combeferre had spotted him.

"Ah, Enjolras!" Enjolras steeled himself and walked towards them. "Enjolras, meet Ponine."

"_That's_ 'Ponine?" he asked, feigning surprise.

"Yes."

"So, 'Ponine," he said as an awkward silence settled in, "what's it short for?"

"Éponine Nikoline Lie Lindebrække Montparnasse."

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed, wholly uncharacteristically. The other two looked oddly at him. 'Ponine with a mixture of confusion and surprise, and Combeferre with a mixture of surprised and parent-whose-child-just-flipped-off-his-boss… which was basically what Enjolras had just done. Enjolras could not blame him, especially because he had no idea why he'd just done it.

"What? It's a long name."

That night all three of them went out to dinner. Combeferre kept up an animated conversation with 'Ponine, telling her about all the shenanigans they had gotten into, like when they had accidentally broken into the royal family's hunting lodge, or when Enjolras had gotten a gestapo drunk when they were out searching for wanted people in the bar (him included), and Éponine almost lost it as Combeferre told her about how the German guard had peed down his shirt while Enjolras did his crazy paddling across the harbour.

"And before I knew it, Enjolras was safely across, and I was covered in German urine!"

"I don't believe it!" 'Ponine exclaimed laughing and leaning on Combeferre's arm.

"You'd better believe it! He was even nice enough to give me a big, warm hug afterwards." Enjolras supplied.

"You probably deserved it," she told him with a smirk, and Enjolras lowered his wineglass with a raised brow.

"Speaking of urine…" Combeferre mumbled and excused himself to the loo, leaving the two of them in an awkward silence.

"Are you just about finished?" he asked irritably after a sip of his drink.

"With what?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow and fishing a cigarette out of her purse.

"Acting like that," he said, putting down his wineglass and continuing to scowl at her. She glared back, and he was pretty sure that if she had not been busy balancing her cigarette between her lips, she would have possibly poked her tongue out at him.

She did not answer him.

"You know first impressions are not always right, right?" he said, lowering his glance to the table, thinking of the first time he met Courfeyrac, and how he never would have believed Combeferre when he said he'd locked himself back into Grini Prison camp if he had only had the impression of Courfeyrac as the selfish Casanova he'd been as a teenager.

"In my experience, they usually are." She smiled at him, before taking a drag of her cigarette.

"Oh, so you're a self-absorbed, superficial bitch then?" he asked, knowing he was pushing it a little too far and damning this woman for making him loose control of his ability to sensor his speech.

To her credit, she took his insult in stride and was just about to fire back some equally biting remark; he could see it in her eyes, when Combeferre showed up.

"I see you're getting better acquainted then?" he said hesitantly as he sat back down.

Éponine stared at Enjolras a few more seconds, spite growing in her eyes, before she calmly gathered her things. "Well this has been a long day," she sighed and stood, bending down to kiss Combeferre's cheek. "It was lovely to meet you again," she smiled warmly at him, and seeing that smile directed at his friend made Enjolras regret his actions for just a second when she sent him an icy glare before walking out of the café.

"What were you doing?!" Combeferre hissed the moment the door closed behind her.

Enjolras just shrugged. He had no idea.


	4. CH3:the Recognition and the Terrorists

CHAPTER 3: the Recognition and the Terrorists 

...

**7th of June, 1943, Forest Lodge Army Training Camp, Scotland**

"Corporal Gregers Combeferre."

Combeferre marched to the front and accepted the award handed to him by the king. The king then reach out his hand for him to shake, and Combeferre, who had stopped over a meter away from him, had to awkwardly poke his arse out as he leant over to reach it. Enjolras had to fight hard not to smile at the sight.

"Second Lieutenant Max Enjolras."

Enjolras marched to the place where Combeferre had stood; except just a little bit closer to the king to avoid the same humiliation Combeferre was going to get from the other guys. As they shook hands, the king said, in Danish, "I will never forget you this."

"You are huge inspiration to us all, your majesty." Enjolras answered.

"I'm afraid it's the other way around, Enjolras."

That evening found Enjolras and Combeferre sitting on the same bridge they'd talked on the first time Enjolras arrived at Forest Lodge.

"I stood too far away from him." Combeferre grumbled, "Did I look stupid?"

"No, not at all" Enjolras lied, accepting the bottle Combeferre was handing him. There was a moment of silence before Enjolras mused; "he knew my name."

"Of course he did, the captain shouted it out for all to hear!"

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but didn't push it.

"Have you heard anything?" Asked Combeferre as Enjolras passed the bottle back.

"We leave in two days and with more equipment this time."

"Of course we do," Combeferre said with a smile and nudged his side, "how could we not, now that you know the king?"

**June, 1943, Oslo, Norway.**

Enjolras was agitated, so agitated in fact that he knew he third cigarette would not help calm him down.

"How the hell did they get Feuilly?"

"It was not your fault, Enjolras" Combeferre said, though he seemed much more tired than usual.

"There was nothing we could do." Gavroche said flatly, the war had hardened Gunnar Gavroche, now almost always known as "the Chin", or number 24. He might have been the smartest one of them, the only who was still able to walk around free without a warrant on his head, but instead of the little boy of barely twenty, he was now more like Enjolras was before Courfeyrac had corrupted him, the Enjolras who did not find anything funny and behaved more like a marble statue than man. Enjolras could not help but think that if Courfeyrac had not been taken to Grini, but had stayed in Oslo with Gavroche, then Gavroche would have been a lot more fun and relaxed… He also might be a lot more wanted by the German state.

"He died for the cause."

"For the cause? Look at those!" Enjolras pointed furiously out to the harbour. They were standing on top of the hill on the other side, looking out over Oslo. "Those ships we took out were nothing compared to these beasts!" he gestured, "Donau carries soldiers and weapons every fucking day and now they've tripled security!" He looked at Combeferre and Gavroche. "How are we supposed to beat that?"

"They make mistakes" Gavroche said calmly, "we don't."

"Oh yes, because we are just so damn professional, aren't we?"

"They could have gotten your name too. What would have happened then?"

"I'd be dead too. But they didn't, and that's why I'm here and Feuilly's not."

**October, 1943, Oslo, Norway**

Enjolras could hear the creak behind him. As he was in his hideout location, meddling with mines and limpets, he grabbed his gun and immediately spun around to aim it at the intruder.

"Planning to shoot me?" the man said, a hint of the old, cocky smile on his face.

Enjolras immediately lowered his weapon and stared in disbelief at his oldest friend.

"Courfeyrac?" He asked, not quite daring to believe it.

"Still as careless I see," he joked, but some of the life that had seemed to radiate from Courfeyrac, even after he fought in Finland, had disappeared. Quite frankly; he looked like shit. He had bruises like circles under bloodshot eyes, his skin was pale and pasty and there was a jittery twitch to his smile and stance that was not quite like him.

"When did you get out?" Enjolras asked, moving closer, needing to touch him, so he could be sure that it really was Courfeyrac.

"Just now." Courfeyrac said, audibly supressing and choking back a sob, blinking his watery eyes rapidly.

Enjolras embraced him, happy to have his childhood friend back, and promised himself he would make those German, Nazi bastards pay for what they'd done to him. After the hug had reached the maximum length for a manly hug they stepped away, and Enjolras looked at his friend in awe, still not believing he was actually there. "Three fucking years…" he whispered and the he embraced him again.

"How did you even get out?" he asked when they parted yet again.

"I was discharged."

Enjolras blinked. "How?"

"Well, the Germans must have figured out that I had absolutely nothing to do with you." Courfeyrac chuckled, but the sound was more like sobbing than laughter now, and Enjolras did not quite know how to tread with this new Courfeyrac.

"Would you like some real coffee?"

"Yes please."

Enjolras turned to pour him a cup.

"Do you mind if we have it outside?" Enjolras turned with a confused glance to him, remembering all the times Courfeyrac had told him to stay inside his basement to avoid being seen too much.

"I've had enough of small dark rooms."

So they sat on the front steps to his tenement, Enjolras regarding his friend as he sipped his treasured coffee and enjoyed the sunny skies and the chilly autumn breeze on his face. Enjolras wondered how he managed to look so serene, sitting there, but at the same time so troubled and broken.

"So what are you planning to do now? Now that you're out."

"Revenge, I guess," Courfeyrac shrugged, "I want to get back at them."

"You've been out, what, two seconds? And you're already trying to get back in?"

"They'll never catch me." Courfeyrac stated with absolute certainty, Enjolras knew that going back was not an option for Courfeyrac, never again.

"Right, but please enjoy your freedom a little first. If not for you, then for me... please."

Courfeyrac smiled, and they both knew he would be doing no such thing.

During the next few weeks, security in the capital was sharpened. It was impossible to walk around a corner without being stopped at a check point. Of course, Enjolras knew they were not looking for a Tolleif Bruun, which was what his papers said, but it was still a mighty inconvenience.

"So did he say what he wanted?" Enjolras asked Combeferre as they cleared the checkpoint.

"No, just that he wanted to meet us here."

"He looks worried," Enjolras said as he spotted Gavroche.

They fell into step with him. "So what's this about?" Enjolras asked.

"Haven't you heard? Quisling's latest notion of a national work service?"

Combeferre imitated the radio commercial voice; "Send your healthy, young son to the workforce!"

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "It's not like they'll get anywhere with that. Only the retarded and unemployed will apply."

"Well," said Gavroche impatiently, "he's going to make it compulsory."

"He can't do that!"

"He can, and he wants to send Norwegians to the eastern front, Entire classes of boys from 18 to 20."

"Shit, how many is that?"

"At least 70 to 80 thousand."

"The summons goes out tomorrow. Show up or be arrested."

"What can we do?"

"We- shit!" Gavroche suddenly stopped and darted into a nearby ally.

"Who is it?" asked Enjolras, adrenaline already pulsing and his hand ready to take out his gun at a second's notice.

"Gavroche, is it the gestapo?"

"It's my sister, Azelma."

"Your sister?!"

"Yeah, well, she thinks I'm in Sweden! She'll have a breakdown if she sees me. And then my cover will be blown for good!"

Combeferre snorted, and Enjolras could not help but laugh with him.

"Ah, Jesus, Chin, you scared me." Combeferre laughed. Enjolras leaned out of the ally to see a beautiful young woman stand outside the shops, waiting for someone. She was impatiently twinning her strawberry blond hair around her fingers, but suddenly smiled as a man walked around the corner and kissed her cheek in greeting.

"Anyway, focus!" Gavroche snapped, raising his head with all the dignity he could muster. Enjolras looked back to Gavroche and swore to himself that he would not be the one to tell him that Azelma Gavroche was meeting Courfeyrac that day.

"They have archives around town with all the names!"

"Where?"

"We'll take out two of them. The one at Police Major Javert's office, and the one at the Employment Office downtown."

They got a hold of three bikes and two suitcases filled with explosives. As Combeferre and Gavroche made their way into the building, Enjolras was tasked with keeping the bikes ready for their escape. Somehow he kept thinking he had drawn the short end of the straw, seeing as he stuck out like a sore thumb and had no notion of what was going on inside except for the gunshots and civilians running out. Then there was the explosion as the archives blew, and then they were all on their bikes and out of there.

Next was Javert's office.

Combeferre, commi -pin on his jacket lapel, asked the secretary if he could speak to Javert about an important matter.

He then subdued the secretary as Marius, Enjolras and Courfeyrac located the files. There was a whole cupboard full.

"Should we blow it?" asked Courfeyrac, preparing the explosives in his backpack.

"No," said Enjolras, "We'll burn them." He then took a folder and started laying the contents carefully on the fire.

"No blowing? We're going to be here all night! Javert could be back any second!" Marius exclaimed.

"Joly's outside, he'll ring the doorbell if Javert returns."

"But-"

"No buts, there are Norwegians sleeping peacefully in this tenement, we will not do something drastic unless it is absolutely necessary." Said Combeferre, coming out of the bedroom where he had convinced the secretary that she was safe with them, Enjolras could still hear her sobs and just knew they were going to get on his nerves the rest of the evening. He pulled out his hipflask and poured some whiskey down his throat, then onto the fire, making the flames bigger as he continued shoving in the information cards.

They had worked all night and only had two files left when they heard the gunshots and the frantic ringing of the doorbell. Enjolras laid both files on the fire and poured the last remains of his whiskey on it.

They all rushed to the door, grabbing their things and erasing all indications of exactly who had been there before they ran down the stairs.

"How many?" Enjolras demanded as they arrive at the front doors.

"15 at least," said Grantaire, the newest recruit,

"Police or Germans?"

"Police, the Germans are just round the corner."

"Where's Joly?"

"Church road."

"Alright, Bossuet, that way, and Grantaire, you come with me. The rest of you, that way."

Enjolras then pulled on Grantaire's shoulder and ran in the opposite direction of his friends.

They emerged from the alley and Enjolras pointed to the left, "up there," he said before he ran to the right.

He saw Bossuet in front of him, his bad luck making him trip on the cobblestone, the Germans shot him five times before he hit the floor, the army-truck ran over him after they killed him. Enjolras saw red. He cocked his automatic and fired it at the side of the truck, hitting all the soldiers with the fired shots. He changed his clip and spotted a man crouched behind his bike in an alcove. He ripped the bike out of his hands and climbed on, making sure his gun was aiming under his arm behind him.

Two Gestapo's on a motorbike and side wagon with a machine gun were shooting at him, a bullet graced the side of his neck, and it hurt like a motherfucker.

He shot blindly behind him, only throwing a glance over his shoulder as he heard the bike swerve off the road. They were both dead.

He discarded his bike at the top of the hill and kept running, he had to make it to Church hill in time, but he was losing too much blood.

"Hey! Don't move!" he heard someone shout to him in German. Enjolras went for his gun,

"Hands in the air!"

He hesitated, but complied.

"Turn around."

He did so slowly.

The soldier was screaming something about his hands, to keep them up, to raise them higher? Enjolras was not sure, his German was rather basic, and he only really knew the words that were similar.

Behind the soldier he spied Grantaire making his way out of the same ally the soldier must have emerged from. Enjolras wanted to shout out for him, make him run, but he knew that he wouldn't and he could see that the gun was not readied.

Grantaire cocked his gun, and as the German soldier spun around at the sound, Enjolras reached for his.

Shots were fired, but Enjolras was too late.

He ran passed the dead soldier on his way to his friend.

"Grantaire!"

He cradled the young man in his arms, taking his hand in his, shaking him and shouting his name. Grantaire smiled at him and closed his eyes, his hand feebly gripping his. And then he passed, the hand went slack and the smile froze. He was dead, or unconscious. Enjolras prayed it was the first as he left the boy in the street. He would have liked to pick him up and carry him back to base, but as he was getting dizzy from his blood loss. He could hear the sirens and the motorbike engines closing in, and he knew he had no chance of getting Grantaire out. If Grantaire was alive, he prayed that he would not live long enough to be taken to Victoria Terrasse.

Enjolras managed to get to safety in one piece, without any further trouble, Courfeyrac opened the door for him and near carried him to the sofa, after that Enjolras could only feel numb.

He could hear his friends chatting, Courfeyrac telling him his wound was not too bad and would heal shortly, Gavroche asking who'd made it and where the others were, Combeferre asking after Grantaire.

"We should have blown up the whole damn thing."

They ignored him, or simply chose not to answer as they all agreed with him. There was an awkward silence.

"What about Bossuet?" asked Joly.

"He didn't make it either." said Courfeyrac apologetically.

"Oh." There was silence again. "Well, I have to go and tell Musichetta." Joly replied in a shaky voice, barely managing to supress his tears.

The next day Enjolras woke with the mother of all hangovers. They might not have known Grantaire that long, but in the short time they'd had with him, he had made himself a nice spot on their team. He, Joly and Bossuet were as thick as thieves, and Enjolras fought with the bile in his throat as the thought of Joly, all alone, hit him with full force.

Grantaire had taught him how alcohol could drown the sorrow away, It was a shame to let such knowledge go to waste.

He could hear the tip tapping of a typewriter in the corner, where Combeferre sat.

"You okay?" his friend asked when he saw Enjolras sit up and clutch his pounding head.

"Yeah," Enjolras answered, voice rough and limbs hurting, as he stood up.

"We leave in an hour."

Enjolras picked up the newspaper Combeferre had conveniently placed on the table.

"_Three Terrorists Shot"_

"There's always two sides to every story," Combeferre said as he held up a piece of paper. It was a document he recognised immediately. Under the well-known heading of "We Want Our Country" the headline was; "_They Died for Patria."_

"The winner decides who the terrorists and who the patriots are," Enjolras sighed, throwing the newspaper back on the table. "Combeferre, do we really need all this propaganda? It's too risky on top of everything else we do!"

"It's a necessary risk."

"I just don't want anything to happen to you."

"Please shed some tears if it does," Combeferre teased, "oh, and make sure my statue is placed somewhere flattering; outside city hall or something."

_AN _

_I am so very sorry!_

_..._

_Until next time!_


	5. CH4: the Second Chance and the Idiot

CHAPTER 4: the Second Chance and the Idiot

...

**1944, Stockholm, Sweden**

"Here you go!" Combeferre said as he handed 'Ponine her gift.

"What's this?"

"Just a little summer gift from the two of us," winked Combeferre.

"From Scotland," Enjolras added.

"Open it!"

She laughed and started tearing the paper off.

"What sort of shenanigans have you two gotten into now, then?"

Enjolras smiled at seeing her dimples again, but was wistful once again when the smile was not directed at him. At least this smile was directed to an object and not his best friend, and no matter how strange that thought sounded, it was still oddly comforting.

She unwrapped the picture of Enjolras and Combeferre holding up the results of their hunting trip and smiling at the camera.

"That picture was taken outside the British Royal family's hunting lodge," laughed Combeferre.

"No! I thought you were kidding!"

"No, no, we swear, we thought it was an ordinary house until we found the wine cellar, and the rococo furniture!"

'Ponine gasped, faking appalled. "And just who taught you manners?"

They both shrugged and chuckled.

"The two of you keep far away from my son!" she said in mock seriousness.

Enjolras felt his smile slip.

"You have a son?"

"Yes, Neville, he's five."

"He is the world's greatest boy," Combeferre supplied with a fond smile on his face.

Enjolras looked at the two of them. A whole year he had known her, and none of them had thought to tell him she had a son?

"Where is he now?"

"He's at a boarding school outside of the city, it's much safer there."

"Yes, of course" agreed Combeferre.

Enjolras was having a hard time focusing on this conversation. If she had a son, did that son still have a father?

No matter how much he tried to remind himself that it was a bad thought, he could not help but wish that boy was fatherless. And it confused him greatly.

He looked back at 'Ponine, and finally he understood all these powerful conflicting feelings he had whenever she was near, or even whenever she was mentioned.

It took him a good fifteen minutes to settle his stomach after accepting this.

These _feelings_.

And by the time Combeferre had fallen asleep with his face plastered to the café window, Enjolras had re-entered the conversation with just as much enthusiasm, maybe a bit too much, but he didn't think he'd given anything away.

"Give me one of those will you?" 'Ponine asked, pointing to Combeferre's cigarettes.

Enjolras was confused, but relented, handing her a cigarette and offering her his lighter. She shook her head and winked at him, making his breath hitch for a second, before she shoved said cigarette up Combeferre's nostril, making sure it was the one everybody who walked past the café window could see.

"You know he's going to blame it on me when he wakes up, right?" Enjolras said, fighting a smile at her antics.

"Yes, I was sort of counting on that." She smiled, and the longer she held his gaze with that radiant smile, the warmer his chest felt.

He picked up another cigarette and jammed it up Combeferre's other nostril as a distraction.

"Oh, he's lucky to have you," she joked.

"Yes," he deadpanned, making her smile that secret smile at him, the one that showed her dimples and warmed her eyes.

"Once, he fell asleep on the tram during a gestapo control, his pockets were filled with illegal flyers, and the gestapo didn't have the heart to wake him up… because he looks so damn serene in his sleep."

She chuckled, "poor thing."

His thoughts drifted off to all the close calls with the gestapo back home.

There was a silence, but unlike all the other silences, this one was comfortable. He glanced towards her and got this indescribable need to voice his thoughts.

"Sometimes I wish I was back in Finland."

She looked at him, calculating, as if she could read his life story in the wrinkles on his face, the colour of his eyes, and the angle of his eyebrows.

"And why is that?" she asked, sipping her whiskey.

"At least there you could look your enemy in the eyes, it was either us or them." He sighed and put out his cigarette. "But now the enemy is behind you, around you and, well, everywhere. They torture and kill my friends to get their hands on me."

"Well, someone has to lead."

"Yeah, well, I've lead them into something they can never get out of…" he trailed off.

She looked at him, nodding slowly and then she started giggling.

"Are you laughing?" he asked, confused and surprised.

"Yes, sorry."

"I just basically poured my heart our and you laugh it off?"

"I'm sorry! I just- I don't know- I never knew you were this… sentimental."

"What's wrong with that?" he pouted taking off his tie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt, it had suddenly gotten a lot warmer. He blamed that on the 3rd whiskey he was currently half way into. "Boys get sentimental when they drink!"

She regarded him for a second.

"Do you know what Combeferre said? He said you bawled your eyes out when you watched _Gone With The Wind_."

He blinked at her stupid smirk and then turned to scowl at Judas. "And I consider him a brother!" he said before he slapped him with his tie. Judas slept on, but one of the cigarettes fell out of his nose.

'Ponine guffawed, "I thought he was just kidding!"

Enjolras forced his blush away and lit another cigarette, regarding her. "And what did you think, when you heard that I cried?"

She threw him another smirk around her cigarette. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed."

"Neither am I."

He looked at her with a calculating stare he thought could challenge hers, the topic from earlier still wanting to get off his chest.

"What?" she asked when he didn't say anything. She narrowed her eyes, "_should_ I be ashamed?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, "I don't know… you're out drinking with two Norwegian boozers into the wee hours of the night. What does your husband think about that?" he raised a challenging brow.

She looked down at the table and unconsciously started spinning her wedding ring around her finger with her thumb.

"He's in England." She said. She then sighed and looked back up to him. "We're still married, yes, but we're not exactly _married_ if you know what I mean."

He straightened up and broke the spell that had settled over him, he awkwardly fumbled for something to do and mimicked walking backwards over the table with his fingers.

"What on earth are you doing?" He liked the way she scrunched her nose in confusion.

"I'm stepping back out of it."

She laughed, showing him those dimples again.

"You, sir, have a lousy sense of humour." She stated.

"But you're laughing!" he retorted in honest bewilderment.

Somehow she ended up walking him to his hotel room, him telling her every lousy joke he knew on the way there.

"So Hitler and Hitler walked into a bar-"

"What, two Hitlers?"

"Hitler and Himler, then! Don't spoil the joke!"

He flicked the light switch, but the room stayed dark.

"Shh!" he gestured frantically to her.

"What is it?" she whispered back.

"Sabotage." He deadpanned.

And that set her off again, laughing as if she wanted to wake the whole hotel.

"No."

"It's sabotage, I swear…" but he too cracked up and stared backing into the apartment, but, when drunk, Enjolras has just as good balance as Bossuet has luck –had luck- and he tripped over his own feet and fell on his face onto the hallway floor.

"Shh! Silence." He started muttering in English. And then he turned on the corner light and turned towards her, still speaking English. "Rest assured, lady, the room is safe."

"Are you sure?" She was not speaking English, though Enjolras was sure she would be very good at it, what, with having an English husband and living abroad for years? Instead of voicing these thoughts though he continued with the English he used at Forest Lodge.

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir?" she chuckled and he dropped the English, satisfied now that he had heard her speak English as well. She lost her Bergen-R when she spoke English, and he was happy to find that her pretty Bergen-R's were something he could have, but her husband couldn't.

He switched the radio on, happy to find a channel that was not spewing Nazi propaganda for once. She laughed as he started dancing to the music. _Dancing_, shit he must be really drunk.

"And just who taught you to dance?"

"A prostitute in Havana."

"Right,"

"I was 14, and she was like a mother to me."

"You've been to Havana?"

"Yes."

He plopped down next to her, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"My dad sent me to my uncle in Cuba to make a man out of me."

"Well, then, mission failed."

He looked at her for a few seconds before she slowly smiled at him, letting him know it was a joke. It was kind of funny, especially with those dimples. He smiled back.

"Whiskey?" He asked, showing her the bottle he had picked up on his dance around the room.

"Yes, please."

The song changed; instead of being this fun, upbeat song it was now a slow tune that made him feel both sad and romantic, sort of.

"Did you really leave your family when you were 14?" she asked.

"No." She looked at him expectantly. "It's a long story."

She still looked at him, her eyes a little bit more tender. He took a sip of the whiskey.

"Let's make you dance."

"No way!"

"Alright, come on." He stumbled over to her and held out his hand. She took it and he pulled her to him. He held her close and suddenly he didn't stumble as much. "See! I just needed you to balance me," he smiled goofily at her before he ducked his head down to whisper something in her ear, but as he opened his mouth he realised he didn't have to, she got it. So he ran his fingers through her hair and brought her even closer instead. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and waist as he traced her cheekbone with his lips, her hands clutching his shirt and her body pressing itself against his.

He kissed her.

Well, he tried to, but even though her body had been holding him as close as his had been holding hers, she had still pulled back at the last possible second.

"I have to go." She whispered and stepped back.

He reluctantly let her go, his arms hanging limp at his sides.

"You don't have to do anything." He said, sounding like a petulant three year old.

"I'll see you around, Enjolras." She said, smiling at him. Her smile was polite now, not the radiant one from earlier, but more like the smile from when they first met.

He stood there, shoulders slumped and stared at the carpet, wanting to know what had happened. He barely had time to locate the whiskey bottle when the door banged open again.

"I'm married." Éponine said, looking slightly frazzled.

"I know." Enjolras answered.

They stood there for a few seconds before he could see the resolve in Éponine's eyes.

And then she was back in his arms, her hands in his hair, pressed flush against him as they kissed. They stumbled towards the bed, he only took his hand off her for long enough to slam the door shut.

**1944, Frich street number 2, Oslo, Norway**

"Where is the hammer?" asked Marius, looking at the new guns Combeferre and Enjolras had brought back to Norway.

"It's still there, but hidden, so you can shoot through your pocket and it won't get stuck," explained Combeferre.

Enjolras put it back in his gun holster.

"To the cover girl" said Gavroche as he slammed a newspaper in front of them, eyeing Enjolras as he tapped the front page.

The front page had a warrant out for him.

"Let's see," said Courfeyrac, picking it up. "What, no reward?"

They all laughed.

"Jehan will be joining you from now on," said Gavroche.

"We do not need more men now, Chin." Enjolras replied, the humour gone from his voice at once.

"Of course we need more people!" Said Combeferre, reaching out his had to Jehan. "My name is Karl-Johan, welcome, and don't mind this idiot."

Enjolras avoided Combeferre's familiar slap to the head.

"I'm serious Enjolras, half my network is down, I sleep in a different place every night, and you should be careful and take the necessary precautions."

"I'll just stick with the boys, I'll be fine."

"Well, if you need me, ask for a Turkish Pretzel at the bakers down on Andreas Street."

"What if we just get a Turkish pretzel?" asked Marius. The other boys laughed.

"Well, it doesn't exist now, does it?"

"Are you sure?" asked Courfeyrac, patting a put out Marius on the back, "I'm pretty sure I've had one…"

"No, I think that was a pastry," muttered Combeferre, fighting to keep a straight face, Bahorel couldn't help himself and his roaring laughter boomed through the apartment.

"Forget about the pretzel." Said Gavroche, fed up with their antics. "You need to be careful, Enjolras, you can't just jump through a window every time."

Gavroche left.

"I really with that boy would have had the time to just… be a boy." Courfeyrac sighed. "Azelma is going to kill me."

"What does your fiancée have to do with The Chin?" asked Marius.

"She's his sister."

"Oh, so that's why he never stops by for friendly visits anymore!"

And then they all dissolved into friendly banter as Combeferre excused himself to make some dinner.

There was a shot that rang through the house. Enjolras was not quite sure what happened, but his chest and leg hurt like a mother fucker. He panicked, breathing became difficult as he clutched his chest and fell to the floor.

"What happened?!" shouted Combeferre as he re-entered in his pink, flowery apron.

"I'm dead," gasped Enjolras, "My heart…" because he knew his heart was located right where he'd been hit.

"Call an ambulance!"

"We can't, he's wanted!"

"My dad is a doctor." said Jehan. In his panicked state, Enjolras was surprised that he noticed Jehan had the same Bergen-R as 'Ponine.

"Then go get him!"

"I'm sorry" Enjolras whispered. Whether to him, or her or them, he was not sure. "Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Marius, my brothers, my king, fuck…"

"He's shot through his leg!" shouted Marius, "in two places."

"It went through his leg first…"

"What?" Enjolras asked, and now that he thought about it, his leg hurt pretty bad.

"Shit," said Combeferre, "I can see the bullet!"

"What?" Enjolras repeated.

"It's just a little piece!" Combeferre held said piece out for him to see. They all laughed, both at the absurdity of the situation but mostly in relief.

"Damn it, Enjolras, you freaking scared me," said Courfeyrac in between fits of laughter.

Enjolras laughed too, but had to stop after a few seconds.

"It hurts like a motherfucker!"

The doctor came quickly, it was the same doctor from Ullevål.

"Valjean?"

"Oh, it's you again." He said, "Well, my son didn't tell me that it was the reason for me and my daughter's imprisonment was the patient." He gestured for his daughter to hand him his tweezers, "you remember Cosette, right. You gave her a pretty good shiner the last time you met."

"Pappa, we've been over this, I asked for it. If I hadn't we would have been stuck there for longer than the 4 short months, and your medical licence would have been revoked!"

"Well, no matter what I do here, you are still going to need to go to the hospital."

"I can't," Enjolras started.

"We know, we helped you escape from the last one, remember? I'll do what I can, and then I'll wrap you up nice and good, and then you will travel to Sweden. Cosette will take you, and as repayment to me, you will make sure she stays there."

"Enjolras are you- Cosette?"

"Marius?"

Marius had just burst into the room with a plate of chicken for Enjolras.

"You two know each other?" asked Jehan, confused.

"Is this the boy who has been leaving love letters at your door?" asked Valjean.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, and tuned out of the conversation, not caring about the fight Cosette put up with her father, it was not as if he could stop her from returning to Norway if she wanted to, but the look in Marius' eyes made him promise to make an effort to try.

But as soon as he resigned to the fact the he was going back to Sweden, he could not help but think of 'Ponine and the way they had parted.

Combeferre ushered everyone out when Valjean was done, asking them to have their family quarrel in the living room instead.

"Won't you come with me to Sweden with me?" Enjolras asked.

"You know I can't, one of us has to stay here to make sure the guys don't blow up the palace while you're gone."

Enjolras huffed, and rolled his eyes. "It's just- it feels wrong to separate now."

"You'll be back in no time," Combeferre smiled, then he handed him a picture, "to remind you of what we're going to do when you return."

It was a picture of Donau.

Enjolras lowered the picture.

"I fucking shot myself in the leg." They both laughed again. "I am such an _idiot_."

"You know what? You are absolutely right."

...

_A/N:_

Its almost over, just one more chapter, then the epilogue!

feel free to ask any questions if something is unclear (i have waaaay too much plot for my word-count, sorry)


	6. CH5: The Friend and the End

CHAPTER 5: the Friend and the End

...

**_March, 1940, Stalla Front, Finland_**

_The last soldier was still alive, and he was begging for his life. Enjolras hesitated, knowing the gun was out of ammo, and the soldier ran. _

"_Stop!" Enjolras shouted, running after him. He caught up quick enough, fuelled by grief for his friends; he was pretty sure their machinegun and killed Courfeyrac, as his best friend had not been shouting in the last minute. He jumped, catching the soldier by his shoulders and brought him down. He flipped him over with strength he didn't know he still had and held him down with the butt of his gun as he pulled out his knife. _

_He felt the blood splatter all over his face as the knife pierced the throat. The warm droplets turned to ice on his skin. _

_This was the first time he had felt his enemy's blood still hot on him, this was the first time he looked into the eyes of the person he killed, saw the light slowly flicker out as the blood soaked his knitted mittens. Courfeyrac had loaned him those mittens, he thought vaguely, as he exchanged them for his victim's clean ones. _

_But this was not the worst part of his nightmares, the worst part was when he climbed back up to the edge of his trench, and saw all his comrades lay there motionless, their white uniforms tainted crimson. _

**1944, Stockholm, Sweden**

"There, take it easy for a few days." The Swedish nurse said as she fastened his bandages. By some sort of miracle, he'd not broken his leg when the bullet went through it, and his recovery was definitively shorter than after the time he'd jumped out that window.

"Thank you." He smiled at her. Someone opened the door, surprising him.

"Oh, hi! Ponine, hi." His smile grew despite himself and he quickly put his undershirt back on over the bandages. 'Ponine didn't smile back. She looked upset.

"What's the matter?"

She pulled out a letter from her purse.

"Is it from Gavroche?" she nodded. Dread filled him. "They haven't taken Courfeyrac, have they?"

"No."

"Combeferre?"

She didn't answer, it was all the answer he needed.

"It can't be. It just fucking can't!" He felt himself losing it. Pain, grief, disbelief, anger, regret, it all exploded within him and threatened to come out in the form of either sobbing or raging anger, he was not sure which he preferred.

"'Ponine, it doesn't make any sense!"

She still didn't answer.

He felt himself starting to hyperventilate and forced himself to take a few calming breaths.

"How?"

"Plasskafeén, it was an ambush." She said, fighting her own tears.

"I knew it, I knew I should never have left. I should have forced him to come with me, I should have-"

"Enjolras, you can't blame yourself!" He ignored her.

"Was anyone else there?"

"Marius, he's been arrested."

"When is the first train to the border?" he asked, gathering his things and haphazardously throwing on his shirt and jacket.

"Enjolras, you can't leave now, they'll catch you too."

He did not even hesitate in his actions.

"Damn it, Enjolras! You can't save everyone!"

"I can save him." He said, kicking the door open and storming out.

"How can you leave now?" she asked, following him into the hallway, "don't you understand?!" He turned around perplexed.

She was almost in tears, a desperate look in her eyes as she caught up to him.

"You're safe here. Right _here_. Don't leave now..."

"How can you ask me to stay?" She opened her mouth, and Enjolras hesitated, but then she closed it again, and all traces of hope disappeared. From his chest, from her eyes. He spun on his heel and tried to forget her broken expression and tear streaked face, which he knew would be a new addition to his nightmares.

And even if she had begged on him to stay, Enjolras knew he still would have left.

Maybe that was why she hadn't, concluded the part inside him that refused to let go of that hope.

He stormed out of the hospital, only pausing as he saw Cosette sitting in the waiting room, a letter crumpled in her hand and grief wracking her body. His eyes met hers and his resolve strengthened

He would save Marius. If not for himself, then for Cosette.

**November, 1944, Oslo, Norway**

He was too late. The minute he returned, Gavroche sat him down and told him. Marius died. He had been taken into Aker Hospital, then Aker fortress, where he'd been tortured for days. Instead of giving turning them in, he had shredded his shirt and tied the pieces together to make a rope, and then tied that into a noose, and then...

At least that was what Enjolras imagined. The only information he got was the Marius had died by his own hand in his cell, and the gestapo were not happy about it. Somehow he was not shocked to know that Marius' loyalty would be the death of him, but it didn't hurt any less.

In the course of two weeks, he'd lost two of his best friends.

The only thing he lived for now, were the thoughts of Donau sinking to the bottom of the ocean. He'd promised Combeferre.

**January, 1945, Oslo, Norway**

They had all gathered at Courfeyrac and Azelma's place. They had gotten married but a week after the ambush in Plasskafeén, scared that something might happen to Courfeyrac and they would never get the chance. They never told Enjolras this, but he guessed as much.

The living room was filled with green ones. Boys, he had never seen them before, and it was Jehan who was giving them the instructions in gun care, Enjolras guessed he was one of the big boys now.

The presence of the young boys, barely eighteen, set Enjolras on edge. They would all die soon. Like Grantaire, like Bossuet, like Marius, like Combeferre. Everyone he touched would die, as soon as he got to know them they would leave in one way or another. And he would be damned if these silly little _boys_ were to die because of him. He would protect the few friends he had left before he could fford to make new ones. New ones to die.

"Enjolras!" He turned to see Bahorel storm in. One of the few people in this house that he actually knew.

"Hitler broke through in the Ardennes."

"Where?" asked green boy one.

"Belgium," said green boy two.

"He is sending 300 000 soldiers to the front, I don't know how great that is." Bahorel admitted, looking to Courfeyrac and Enjolras.

"What's that got to do with us?" Jehan asked Enjolras.

"We have to make sure that not a single German leaves Norway."

"We've been fighting to get rid of those pigs and now we want to keep them here?" asked Courfeyrac, looking crestfallen.

"Don't you get it?" Bahorel shook Courfeyrac's shoulders. "If they push everything they have to the front they may win the war." Courfeyrac threw his hands up in surrender.

"Enjolras! Gavro- _the Chin_ and the others are blowing up the railroads." Bahorel informed him. "And then there's Donau; that no one has done anything about. She's still in service."

Enjolras looked at Bahorel with disdain. "The English planes can handle it."

"Donau has shot down half the RAF, we have to do this. I've worked at that harbour; I know we can do it!"

"That's enough, Bahorel. I am still in charge here and I say we don't do shit."

"But Enjolras-"

"No. And who are all these green boys anyway, get out!" Enjolras yelled as he stalked into his room and closed the door behind him, pouring himself a glass of whisky as he went. He savoured the burning sensation it had in his throat and the warmth it added to his belly, before he dismantled the headboards and started taking out the limpets he had stashed there for the Donau mission.

"Enjolras, what are you-"

"Bahorel, I swear to God, if you don't-"

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Courfeyrac asked him as he barged past Bahorel.

Enjolras did not answer.

"What, are you going to blow it up _by yourself_?" Courfeyrac looked angry, "you can't take Donau alone!"

"I am sick and tired," Enjolras bit out through clenched teeth, "of people dying around me."

"We will do it together!"

"Have you seen it?" He rounded on Courfeyrac, "it's full of weapons and equipment and soldiers, and it takes one life to get rid of it all, and I will be that life." He returned to his packing. "It's my turn."

"Your turn to what?"

"Get out."

"Your turn to what?!"

"I said get out!"

Courfeyrac pounced on him, knocking him down to prevent him from shoving them out, he was in tears now. "Combeferre and Marius were not just your friends! _Why do you need to go too_?"

"Listen to me-" Enjolras yelled back as he got to his feet.

"No!" Courfeyrac pushed him against the wall. "It's just me and you left now! And we're going to do this together and get out of it alive… Just like Finland."

Enjolras looked at Courfeyrac as he calmed down, he could sense Bahorel taking his limpets, but he didn't look away from his best friend's eyes. Courfeyrac's breath calmed and he loosened his grip on Enjolras' shirt, but other than that, neither moved.

In the end Enjolras sighed and gripped his friend's shoulder, like Combeferre always used to do.

"Just like Finland."

He didn't look Azelma in the eyes as he passed her on his way out the next morning, knowing that this might be the last time she would see her husband.

**16th of January 1945, Oslo, Norway**

They dressed up like electricians, it was almost too easy. All they had to do was pretend to blame Bahorel for forgetting to get a permit, and the guards let them in after debating that they must be the men who were going to fix the connection in the control room. They were lucky too. Apparently there had just been a mix up in the filing, and theirs was not the only mix-up of the day.

The only thing they had not known about were the new routines, which included shooting a machine gun between the ship and the dock, in case of saboteurs. They still pushed through, it was all or death now.

But from there it was almost too easy. All they had to do was use the shafts to get down to the water, where they had an inflatable rubber boat that Bahorel kept steady as Enjolras attached the limpets.

He saved three for last, three he had spent last night engraving with his pocketknife.

_For Patria_

_For Marius_

_For Combeferre. _

They were just making their way back to safety when the machine guns started again.

They hit the water, and Enjolras almost choked as he tried to pull air into his lungs, the freezing January sea water making it impossible. They dragged themselves and the, now deflated and torn, rubber boat back the few meters to the shore, praising the lords that they were not seen.

Once back in the shaft they stripped as quick as their frozen fingers allowed them before putting the electrician overalls back on and making their way out to Courfeyrac, who was standing guard.

They made their excuses to the guards, saying they needed different tools and would be back in the morning, with the right permits this time. Courfeyrac was stopped by a gestapo.

Enjolras kept walking. It would be fine. Courfeyrac was not wanted by the German state and despite the fact that he felt like he was abandoning him, he knew that showing his face would be more damage than help. His hands still shook as Courfeyrac talked his way out of questioning by mentioning football. _What a character_.

Later when he asked Courfeyrac, he had never been so happy to have followed his instincts. Courfeyrac had been stopped by Siegfried Fehmer, the German Gestapo Captain, the one responsible for making his warrant.

And once again they were off to Sweden. Except this time it was not by foot, but by skis.

**January, 1945, Stockholm, Sweden**

He waited outside her house, needing to see her, to talk to her, to apologise, to- actually he was pretty sure he just needed to hold her for a while.

"Enjolras?"

He got to his feet, a grin on his face, happy to see her again, the grin soured quickly as he saw the tall gentleman in a top hat and a little boy of almost 7 follow her out.

"You just go ahead, I'll come." She said to what he guessed was Neville Sr. and Neville Jr.

The little boy looked at him with big eyes and turned to his father, asking him all sorts of questions in flawless English. His father answered in short and vague replies, and Enjolras felt a little annoyed at the father's airy attitude. Neville Jr. did look like his father to a t. Dark hair, curly and sleeked back, elegant profile and high cheekbones, all over aristocratic. He had Éponine's eyes though.

"Where have you been, Enjolras?" she asked, but she was still making her way to the car, not really turning towards him nor looking him in the eyes. It hurt.

"Don't –" she said softly when he went to grab for her hand.

"'Ponine, please, can we, can we go somewhere?"

"No, not now, Enjolras."

"I leave tomorrow."

She turned to face him, finally, and opened her mouth, but just like in the hospital, she didn't say anything. So she closed it and searched his face for something. The next sentence out of her mouth killed the last spark of hope he had of ever having her in his arms again, of having her in his arms one last time.

"We received a telegram; Donau was stranded outside of Drøbak. Congratulations."

Enjolras looked at her, but she was completely closed off, and it was way worse than he had ever imagined. He glanced from her face to her kid, who was prattling on about something to his father, eyes alight with enthusiasm and curiosity. And yes, Combeferre was right, he was the greatest.

Because he was hers.

"Look, is there anything I can help you with, anything you need?" She asked, and he knew she was referring to her job. She was the Auntie after all.

He knew he was selfish, he knew he shouldn't ask, just like she knew not to ask in the hospital, but just like her, he was asking anyway.

"Don't do this, please." He reached out and grabbed her hand, running a thumb over her knuckles and pulling her ever so slightly closer, but once again she pulled away.

The worst part was that he knew this was how he had left her, but at least she had the decency to look back.

**4th of April, 1945, Oslo, Norway**

"Hello?" Enjolras answered the phone hesitantly, wondering who could possibly be calling him.

"Enjolras?" he heard a hysterical voice on the other end, followed by gunshots. He tensed immediately, a hand on his gun.

"Azelma?!"

"They are gunning for everyone they have under suspicion; you all need to get out. Don't worry, Courf made it, but you need to get out now. And tell the others!"

Just like that the line was broken. He reacted quickly, calling everyone in his network and legging it for the safe house.

Only two of them didn't make it.

Jehan, who had run to an insecure safe house, and Bahorel, who had run to the same safe house to save his best friend.

Gavroche sent the survivors to Sweden.

Azelma was the only one taken prisoner. She was sent to Grini, Courfeyrac would never forgive himself.

**8th of May, 1945**

_The war is over._

All these years he thought those four words would give him happiness and relief, but in reality he just felt numb.

**7th of June, 1945, Oslo, Norway**

He finally had the flag on his uniform, and here he was, sitting guard in the king's car. In the cars and on the bikes around him, he saw familiar faces, Courfeyrac, Gavroche, and all the people celebrating openly in the streets, they were waving flags and shouting with joy. And despite the fact that Combeferre would never see this, that Marius had to die without knowing whether or not it was in vain, that Musichetta would be without her husband and her lover, there could still be happiness. He could see them smiling; Musichetta and Cosette, despite both losing two of the most important people in their lives.

Courfeyrac's grin was as big as before the war, his laughter ringing as he spotted his wife imitating the man in the sidecar. Enjolras marvelled over how he could still be smiling, it was seeing Musichetta and Cosette and Valjean standing there, waving at them and then it was seeing how free they were, the Norwegian flag hanging out from all the windows and being waved left, right and centre.

He turned back around to face the palace on top of Karl Johan's Street, listening to the booming laughter and he could not help but smile.

The war was over, the king was back. And the masses were waving flags in red, white and blue.

The End

**_(Well not quite, there is still the epilogue, but yeah...)_**


	7. Epilogue

_A/N ohh lord its over, this is it, the end. ((I wept at this part sorry not sorry))_

...

**EPILOGUE**

...

Courfeyrac and Azelma had gone on a well-deserved honeymoon at last. Azelma was awarded a King's Medal for Courage in the Cause of Freedom, and spent more time gloating over that than remembering her short time in Grini, but Courfeyrac had been having kittens over it, remembering his own horrible stay there. In the end Enjolras and Gavroche had forced them to spend a week in Norwegian nature, at the Gavroche family cabin. Open space and fresh air would do them both good.

After the war had ended, Enjolras had thrown himself into his job of finding and capturing fleeing Gestapos and known Nazis. But now that his services were no longer needed, and with the Courfeyracs out of town, Enjolras was left alone with his thoughts and the whiskey. And he started feeling restless… and useless.

Useless and numb.

And just a little hopelessness lingered as well, ever since Stockholm.

He locked the door to his apartment and sat down on the sofa, the same sofa where Courfeyrac and Marius had wrestled over an airgun once upon a lifetime ago, and closed his eyes for a second.

When he tried hard enough, he could hear them.

"Hey, look what I have here!" Grantaire shouted, waving a big, expensive bottle of champagne over his head. "I've actually been saving this since April 9th, 1940. Swearing I would not drink from it, until Norway was safe… and free." The others laughed and teased the sentimental side of him.

"We know he's not one to save a bottle of anything," commented Joly, from his place by the window. Instead of the black curtains that had hung there for almost 4 years, the window was now covered with a Norwegian flag, filtering the light trough red, white and blue, and creating a nice, comfortable atmosphere.

Jehan started spewing poetic nonsense, the Bergen-R bordering on making it beautiful or just plain annoying. Marius was smoking his pipe again, threatening anyone that shot it out of his mouth on this day of celebration, would get what's coming for them and Bossuet was telling Grantaire to open the bottle already. The champagne opened with a loud pop and they all hastily shoved their glasses under the golden spray, even though they still left quite the mess on the table.

"Here you go, Feuilly" Joly had offered the shy kid a glass, "Bout time you get some alcohol, maybe we'll find you a nice dame later? Everything is possible now that Norway is free!" Joly winked, Feuilly blushed, but accepted the glass, and everybody else started cheering.

"I would like to propose a toast!" Marius shouted.

"To getting laid!" Grantaire supplied and took a huge sip.

"No, to us." Said Marius and they all raised their glasses with smiles on their faces.

"To peace," he continued, "to Partia."

"To Norway!" they exclaimed.

"To Enjolras." It suddenly fell silent as Enjolras glanced to the left and saw Combeferre sitting on the sofa next to him, it was he who had spoken. He stood and held his glass up, and everyone else did the same, looking at Enjolras as he sat on his sofa.

"To Enjolras." They said.

Enjolras blinked, and he was alone again. The room felt cold and empty once more.

These men, his friends, his _brothers_, were gone.

And they would never know they'd won them the war.

Enjolras found the bottle of Champagne that Grantaire had hid, opened it, and poured himself a glass.

He silently toasted his friends, the fallen, and emptied the glass in one gulp.

Soon the champagne was empty, and whiskey replaced the bubbles.

Enjolras could hear heels clicking in his living room. Softly, barely making a sound, but in his hung-over state it was still loud enough to be noticed. He continued lying on the sofa, as he had done the past few days, and ignored his wishful thoughts.

"Enjolras," she whispered.

He rolled over, seeing her. She looked out of place in the moody glow the flag had set over the room, she stood in a nice floral dress, different from the near uniform style clothes she usually wore, and the red dress she'd worn when they'd danced in his hotel room, the red dress that had occupied the floor that night. He closed his eyes and remembered the feel of her, bracing himself to see her gone when he reopened them, just like his friends, but she was still there.

"Courfeyrac said you'd be here," she said after it was clear that he would not be saying anything. "He's quite worried, said he'd called you a lot, but you didn't answer."

He stayed quiet, Courfeyrac had visited him every day since coming home from his honeymoon and threatening to blow up the door unless Enjolras unlocked it, not leaving him for hours. In the end it was Azelma that forced Courfeyrac to return home every evening, not wanting to be alone again. Not ever again. He was glad they had each other.

"How did you get in?" he asked, voice hoarse from drinking and shouting his frustrations in the dead of the night.

"I picked the locks," she said, matter-of-factly. She crossed her arms and made no move to leave.

He sighed, sitting up as quick as his throbbing head allowed him.

"And just why have you locked yourself into your apartment?" she asked. "You should be out in the streets celebrating with the rest of us."

He laughed without humour. "I am celebrating," he gestured to the many glasses with traces of alcohol that littered his coffee table.

He sighed once again before he looked at her.

"I don't really have a lot to celebrate."

"Nonsense," she told him as she sat down on the sofa next to him.

"I have no job, no education, no family. No friends," he was getting agitated now, "I'm here and they're dead. Is it too much to ask? Is it too much to ask to have died, and let Combeferre be here in my place?" His voice broke and he felt all the aggression melt away, leaving only the hopelessness behind, "I have no… you." He trailed off, raising a bottle to his lips.

"Enjolras," she said, stopping his hand from reaching his mouth with the bottle. "I had it all; a good job, a nice apartment in Stockholm, and a beautiful house in England. I married a diplomat, whose family and mine have been friends for years, we have a beautiful son, a great boy, and they're waiting for me back in England… but still; I'm here."

"Why?" he croaked, barely holding the tears at bay.

"Why am I here? With an alcoholic who's got no job, no education, no family and no friends, so he chooses to lock himself in his apartment to feel sorry for himself?" she asked.

He blinked and nodded.

"No matter how good my life was, I know it can be better and, well, we have something special, Enjolras, and I don't think I can live my life without it."

He looked at her, feeling hope for the first time since Stockholm, his hands blindly reached out to hold her hands, and she didn't pull away. He could feel her fingers, soft and lean, and it suddenly hit him that she was here. He pulled her closer, cupping her cheek and running his other hand down her back. He only spared a moment to look at her face, brown eyes shining, lips quirked in a hopeful smirk, and her hair a mess as his hand ran through it. He kissed her then, and she didn't pull away.

He would have died a thousand deaths, for his friends, for his cause, for his fellow countrymen, but just then, just there, with 'Ponine holding him close, her chest pressed to his, one arm around his shoulders and the other knotted in his messy blond hair, he would have lived a thousand lives.

He would have lived a thousand lives, just to make her happy.

And knowing that despite his issues; his reoccurring nightmares, his drinking and his demons, and despite the fact that she was technically married to another man, she was utterly and completely _his_. And it was enough to make him smile again, to make him live, to make an effort. He had found something new to live for.

And he had found a way to stay alive.

...

_A/N THIS WAS IT!_

_ALMOST BC HERE COMES THE BONUS:_

_THis fic is based on a true story. _

_Enjolras is based on Max Manus who, after the war ended, started his own office supplies company. Courfeyrac was based off of Kolbein Lauring who did fight with Max in Finland and who did go to Grini, and whose wife did receive a King's Medal for Courage in the Cause of Freedom and they lived a quiet and happy life together. _

_And Éponine, sweet bby, is based off of Tikken Manus, who was a kick ass lady who was married to a diplomat and had a son and got divorced for Max and had two kids with him and a great life, a long life. _

_And Gavroche, based off of Gunnar "the Chin" Sønsteby. He is Norway's most decorated person. _

_So yeah, they were real people. Combeferre was based of off Gregers Gram, and damn it he did die at plass cafe and damn it Edvard Tallaksen (Marius) DID kill himself so as to not give up his friends under torture. _

_They were both awarded medals posthumously._

_I am sorry. _

_And feel free to ask any and all questions about these kick ass people!_


End file.
